A Dozen Ways to Be a Hero
by bobness
Summary: America knows he's the hero. However, since the others aren't fully convinced, he's forced to show how incredibly heroic he can be. Rated K plus for language, birthday gift for takixe190!
1. The Deal With Guns

**So, Sweetheart's Week is over and I thought I'd get a break from writing. Then I realized that it's my sister's birthday in less than 12 days, so...I decided to write her a 12-chapter story. AMERICA IS THE HERO. That's all.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I'd dress America up in crazy outfits every single freaking day. ;)**

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><p>America had always tried desperately to be the hero. Wait, strike that. America was <em>always<em> the hero. So it didn't make much sense to him when England told him to actually _act_ like a hero. When you were a hero, you always acted like a hero, correct?

According to England, though, he wasn't a hero. Knowing that made him depressed and, quite frankly, not in the mood to be at the World Meeting that day.

However, when he saw Switzerland stand up to speak, he noticed something strange- _Switzerland had an arsenal of various guns._

Okay, maybe it wasn't that strange, considering he _always_ had an arsenal of guns, but, still. It seemed a bit weirder to him today than any other day. Yet, despite his immense amount of highly dangerous weapons (_and how the hell did he get them in here in the first place?_), America noticed that young Lichtenstein couldn't seem to get enough of her brother. Her large, green eyes stared at him like he was a...a _hero_.

Guns. Guns? Guns was what made a hero? America sat up taller in his seat, the little wheels in his head turning and turning until...

He knew what he was going to do to become a hero.

At the next meeting, he arrived late, as always. Instead of a normal '_I'm here~!_' entrance, though, he opted instead to make his way in slowly, enjoying the faces he received.

"America?" Trust England to speak up first. "What the bloody-"

America simply sent a smirk his way. "It's okay to be in awe," he stated. "I don't mind."

Honestly, he didn't. He loved the attention, after all. And he sure as heck should get attention while wearing this outfit- his old cowboy outfit from his days out on the wild west, two pistols, a rifle, and other assorted guns.

England coughed nervously. "It's not awe, it's..." He struggled with his sentence, so France filled in.

"_Amérique,_ it's just one of those moments where we all say...eh, what do Americans use to express great shock? WTF." The bearded nation nodded proudly at the fact that he was somehow able to pick up on all those ridiculous texts that America tended to send to every nation out there.

Instead of instantly declaring that he had to change, though, America suddenly pulled out a pistol and pointed it directly at France's forehead. "I think you should take that back!" he exclaimed.

With a collective gasp, everyone in the room stood and some even took this moment to slowly back away- clearly America was drunk, they believed. England was one of the few that remained rooted in his spot. "Er, America, as much as I hate the frog, I do believe that killing him at a World Meeting won't get you anywhere. For one, this is lovely carpet, and if his blood stains it, it'll be a pain to clean."

"_Imbécile_," France hissed, his eyes never once leaving America's guns.

Only now did America look somewhat confused. "Eh? But...But Switzerland has all these guns!"

"That's because it's _expected _of him." Germany spoke up now, blue eyes glaring dangerously at America. "If Switzerland were to show up at a World Meeting without his guns, I think we'd all be quite surprised."

On this note, Switzerland pulled out one of his own guns and began threateningly gesturing it to America. "I could blow your brains out right now if I wanted to, and no one would do a damn thing to stop me!" he growled.

He probably would have, too, if Lichtenstein hadn't pulled on his sleeve. "Big brother, please don't kill Mr. America! He's nice."

This put the Swiss nation at conflicting emotions. The ones he held for his sister won out in the end, though. "Next time, though, he will not escape," he promised before taking a seat.

America laughed loudly, trying to prove that he wasn't scared of Switzerland, not one bit! "We'll see, Swiss-dude." That being said, America took his place at the front of the room, standing behind the podium and not even bothering to check and see if some other country was supposed to be speaking. "Right, so I suggest that, to deal with global warming, we-"

"One," England called out, disrupting America's speech. "We're not even discussing global warming today and, two, take off the ridiculous outfit. We're all supposed to be wearing formal clothing, not cowboy boots." He was looking rather irritated, his large eyebrows furrowed and a frown stuck to his face.

America groaned. "Iggy, this is my hero outfit, though! C'mon, lemme wear it today, please?"

"I said no," England repeated. "Now, go take them off or I'll take them off for-" Realizing what he was saying, England stopped, turning bright red, while every other country in the room erupted into a fit of chuckles.

"Really, _Angleterre_, you're willing to show such affection in front of others? Now, if you would like, there's a closet just across-"

He was cut off as the room absolutely exploded with uncontrollable laughter. America and England both turned red, the latter finally standing and tossing his precious teacup at the 'country of love'. "You bloody perverted frog!" he screamed. "There is nothing funny about this, it was a slip of my tongue! Stop laughing, damn it!" When no one would listen to him (if anything, they just laughed even harder), England left the room with angry stomps.

America was speechless for a moment, but he finally found the ability to move his legs and run after England. "Wait! Hey, don't leave, I didn't mean for anything-"

"Shut up, America! Always making things difficult for me!" He twisted his head while striding away, then yelled, "And, for the last time, change into your bloody suit!"

Once England left, America realized just how right the island nation was. If he had to be truthful with himself, the outfit did make him look rather silly. And, maybe pointing a gun at France's head for no reason at all wasn't the brightest of moves.

How was it, then, that Switzerland got the title of the hero and America didn't? Not the guns...it couldn't be his kind, loving nature (or lack thereof). The only thing Switzerland did was make sure that France didn't rape anyone...

Ah-ha.

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><p><strong>What will he do next to prove that he is indeed a hero?<strong>

**I already came up with everything during science when I was supposed to be helping my friends write an essay. Pfft. I didn't know what I was talking about, because they finally forced me to write it, and even though I used big words, we failed anyway. I guess the structures of rocks don't have anything to do with tiny little molecules that live inside of them (see now why I fail at science?)**

**Anyway, in a few short weeks, _takixe190_ (my sis, by the way), shall be visiting Alfred F. Jones' vital regions (aka, D.C.). Yeha, girl. You take pictures of them vital regions. ;) Anyway, here we have the first chapter of your 12-part birthday gift. I know you love Iggy like crazy, so I'll try putting him in every chapter. I just couldn't resist writing this story. Maybe next I'll do A Dozen Ways to Be A Gentleman?**

**Yeah.**


	2. The Deal With Frogs

**Chapter...Number...Two. Less of Iggy, more of France. Deeply sorry, Miss Birthday-Chick. I'll make an Iggy-centric one next time, hopefully.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, France would have a real army of invincible frogs.**

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><p>The next phase of 'My Plan to Be Recognized as an Official Hero' had come into play:<p>

Ward off that perverted frog from all others.

To America, it seemed quite simple. He was strong, France was weak. Simple enough, then, to cease France's perverted nature by overpowering him in strength. At least, that's what he thought when he made his way to the next World Meeting, which, unfortunately, was nearly two months later. Still, though, America didn't despair. He kept his cool, even if he really did desperately need to prove himself a hero.

Arriving at Spain's place (which was where the World Meetings that were taking place this month were being held), America instantly noticed that creepy pervert stalking Finland. Until Sweden stepped in, of course, and though the Nordic didn't do a thing, France quickly turned the other way and spotted America.

"_Bonjour, Amérique_!" he greeted, giving a small wave of his hand. Even France managed to make something like a wave seem lovely. "And, how are you this fine day?"

Remembering his plan to protect everyone from France's wandering hands, America remained expressionless. "Good morning, France."

The smile of the 'country of love' faltered. "Er...what's with the change in personality, _Amérique_? Usually you're hugging everyone."

"Yes, well..." America tried to think of a good way to word his thoughts.

France looked distressed and slightly frightened. "Is this about last time?" He suddenly began looking over America again. "Do you have a gun?"

America rolled his eyes. "No," he mumbled. "I'm just making sure you don't touch anyone."

Halting in his search for any sort of concealed weapon, France stared America in the eyes, now confused. "You're...what?"

Feeling that France was probably not too bright in the head (then again, not everyone could be as intelligent as himself), America repeated himself slowly. "I just want to make sure you keep your hands to yourself."

He watched as France looked surprised for a few extra seconds, but the bearded nation soon had a leer on his face. "Is that so?"

"Yes." America nodded, proud that he was able to make France understand his duty. "Now, then! Since that's all situated, let's go into the World Meeting. I have some hamburgers to eat and I've gotta tell Iggy that-" And, suddenly, he was cut off. Why? France had taken it upon himself to back America up into the wall of the hallway they were currently standing in, his blue eyes narrowing and the same, creepy smile plastered onto his face. "Uh...this is a little invasion of my personal space, don't ya think?"

The shorter country simply purred. _Purred? Who the hell purrs? _America's heart rate increased as France drew in closer. "So, _Amérique_, you're currently making sure I keep my hands to myself, _non_?" When America said nothing, France gave a small chuckle. "I don't believe you're doing a very good job at it." As if to prove his point, France's hand suddenly slipped behind America's back, slowly making it's way to the lower part.

America turned beet read. "France, no kidding, get off," he hissed, trying to push away. But, when he was this nervous and when France was this..._ perverted_, for lack of a better term, using physical strength was much more difficult.

"_Non, non._ I rather like this position." America felt France's hand pinch at his ass. Being the hero he was, he only gave a _slight_ yelp, and it was manly. It didn't sound anywhere close to being girly, not at all.

"Get off!" This was louder and America used much more force in his attempt to move away, to the point where he was struggling but, _damn, when did France become so strong?_

France giggled, his breath feeling hot on America's neck as he leaned in. "Oh, _chère Amérique. _You must stay calm. I shall make a promise not to hurt you." His other hand was moving dangerously close to America's vital regions. "We'll have fun."

The way he said this and the threat of having his crotch grabbed finally sent America into motion. "Get off, get off, GET OFF!" he yelled, now able to push France away. He was blushing from head to toe and looking quite disturbed. "Y-You're not supposed to be touching me like that! Do you know how inappropriate it was?" His glasses were askew and he probably looked like a mess, but so long as he could give France what was coming for him, he didn't really care.

However, France only smirked as he straightened himself. "Ah, but you enjoyed it. I know you did." And, without giving any warning, he came up on America again.

"No! Stop, off, off, off!" And, again, America pushed him away. "That's not right! Why do you keep doing that?"

France snickered. "Why, _Amérique_, what about your plan to stop my ever-wandering hands? I thought you'd be able to use the brute strength you possess to ward these fingers away from everything out there that needs to be groped."

America sputtered angrily for a second before quickly turning and walking down the hallway, determined not to let that frog get the better of him.

Once in the meeting room, he took his seat and sat there, sulking, not even bothering to look up when he heard France come in, or even when he heard England shout something about 'keeping your bloody hands away from me, thank you very much!' Quite frankly, he was content on letting France just go on and harass the other countries, so long as France stayed far, far away from him.

Which wasn't going to happen, especially not after their little incident in the hallway. Of course, once France spotted him, he all but skipped America's way. "Why, looking quite red there, aren't we?" He pinched America's cheek, earning a whine of protest. "You're doing a very _magnifique_ job of keeping my hands away from everyone else, _non_?" When America didn't answer, France took this as his signal to continue his torture, placing a kiss to the American's neck. "You're so cute, _Amérique._"

America, surprised by the kiss, quickly scrambled out of his chair, tripping over everything there was to trip over, and promptly sticking himself to England's side. "America, what are you doing now?" the irritated country asked.

"France is molesting me, so I thought I'd, you know, be safer with you."

"Doubtful. He'll view it as a threesome and I actually don't want that." England took a seat. "Run along, now, America."

Seeing that his only light of hope was leaving him to fend for himself, America slowly made his way back to his seat, telling himself that France wouldn't actually _rape _him, not in front of the other countries.

Would he?

_Maybe I should have brought the guns._

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><p><strong>Maybe I shouldn't write when I'm about ready to pass out.<strong>

**FrUS, anyone? Yeah, I kinda like it. Not enough to make it my little mind!canon just yet, though, but I think France teasing America is awesome, because even though America is, like, freaking strong, France is seductive and can even get poor America all flustered.**

**Just an FYI, though, there won't be any REAL pairings in this. Just a lot of...shenanigans. I love that word. Anyway, this here is still for _takixe190_'s birthday gift. ;D I don't think she's a FrUS fan...maybe a FrUK fan? Whatever. I dunno. I'm sleepy.**


	3. The Deal With Scones

**Ah-ha! I'm late! Very late! _Takixe190_ is celebrating her birthday in a week, and I'm not even halfway done! Sorry. .**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, scones would be everywhere, because they're very tasty, actually. **

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><p>"Dude, I still don't see why I have to come. You know Spain and I aren't, like, best friends forever or something, don't you?"<p>

"America, just shut up. We're already here and we bought presents. Besides, he always shows up to every one of your silly little birthday parties, so just do this for him, okay?"

America was currently standing just outside of Spain's door, two wrapped gifts in his hands. England stood beside him, carrying a bag of the food they decided to bring. Some of England's cooking (which America had been very disapproving of, but England didn't listen to reason) and a fresh apple pie that America had taken it upon himself to bake.

With a sigh, America shifted the presents in his arms. "Would you just hurry up and ring the doorbell already?"

England rolled his eyes but did as asked. Instantly, Spain answered, not even bothering to see who it was before he gathered them both into an awkward hug. "Ah, _mis amigos_ are here! Come in, come in! The house is nearly filled up already!" Without waiting for any sort of reply, Spain pulled them into the hallway and shut the door behind them. "Oh, are those for me?"

"Yeah." America gave the presents to an overjoyed Spain. "One's from me and one's from England. So, happy birthday!"

Spain laughed and set the gifts on a nearby table, which already happened to be filled up with many gifts. "England, did you make some food for us?" He gave a small grimace, one that only America noticed.

Smiling proudly, England pulled his scones out from the bag. "Ah, yes. I thought the party would be better if I brought my famous scones along. America tried them for me, and he said they tasted better than my other batches."

When America saw Spain shoot him a look, the younger country merely grinned. "Well, they _were_," he said in defense. However, every other nation in the world knew England's cooking was awful enough that even being _better_ was an easy feat to accomplish.

"_Si_...well, I suppose you can put them over at the snack bar." Spain pointed further into the room where all of his other friends lounged about. "And, be sure to have fun! Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go find my little tomato!" The Spanish country ran off with laughter, calling out, "Romano! Where are you?"

This left America and England on their own. After staring after him, America gave another sigh (which he seemed to be doing a lot today, he dully noted). "C'mon. Let's go put our stuff down."

"Right." England followed him to the table and carefully placed his scones right next to America's apple pie. "There." He admired it with great pleasure. "It looks quite nice, doesn't it? I must say, I surprised myself on this certain batch. Adding the extra flour really does help, don't you agree?"

Not wanting to hurt England's feelings, America grinned. "'Course it does!" he exclaimed. "It...yeah." He scratched the back of his neck, for once at a loss of what to say. "So, Iggy, do you wanna go and...I dunno, catch up with the other nations? Look, Prussia and France are over there!"

Instantly, England's face darkened. "_No thank you_, America," he sniffed, pointedly turning away from the other two. "I'd rather converse with countries who are highly intellectual."

"Awesome. Here I am," America replied, giving a grin.

With a roll of his eyes, England also turned away from him, staring instead at the snacks. "It doesn't look as if anyone has taken any of my scones yet."

_And, I doubt anyone will,_ America thought, but voicing that out loud would have probably been very unheroic. "Give 'em some time. I mean, we just set them out, right?"

"I suppose." England allowed himself to be led away by America, who had spotted Japan, but he still kept his eyes on his food, the food that he worked so hard to make.

After a few hours, when nearly everything else was gone, it was clear how enraged he was becoming. "No one has even _touched_ them, other than myself! Is there something wrong with my scones? I mean, sure, everyone _says_ I make the worst scones, but I worked hard on these! Dammit, why doesn't anyone appreciate culinary art? _Noooo_, they eat all of the _frog's_ food instead!"

America sighed, prying the wine from England's hand. "Geez, you need to lay off the booze," he mumbled. He let England have a few cups of alcohol and now he was forced to deal with a slightly intoxicated and very pissed country.

"But, look, America! Those scones, the scones I worked so hard to make, are just sitting there!" He narrowed his eyes. "America, call everyone over, right this instant."

"Dude, I-"

"Call them!"

The superpower shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Iggy, look, I'm sorry no one's eating your scones, but that doesn't me-"

However, England cut him off, determined to take things into his own hands. "All of the countries better get their bloody arses over here or there will be hell to pay!" he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth just to make sure it echoed.

As the other nations knew England would probably go into some sort of infuriated rage if they didn't obey, they quickly gathered around, looking nervous and quietly whispering amongst themselves. America stood with England of the center of the circle that was now present, trying to get his ex-caretaker to see reason and let Spain continue his birthday.

England was just a tad past the point of reason, though. "Now," he said, his voice dangerously quiet and calm. "I want all of you to take a good look at that snack table. Go on, look." They all did. "Please tell me what you see."

"Ah, it's just food, _Inglaterra_," Spain spoke up, considering it was his party. "Why?"

"Why?" England narrowed his green eyes. "I notice that every single bit of food has been nearly eaten by now." When he fell silent, the others looked at each other, each one wondering if England was sore that he wasn't able to eat anything. In this dramatic pause, England took a few deep breaths and continued. "My scones have been _untouched. _Do you realize how much work I put into those things?" He suddenly poked a finger into Spain's chest. "I made them for your bloody birthday, for God's sakes! And, this is how you repay me? By insulting my cooking skills?"

Spain blinked. "Eh? B-But, I mean...I didn't _see_ them!" He gave a nervous laugh. "Sorry!"

England simply snorted. "Sorry my ass. Now, _someone_ is going to make sure my hard work didn't go to waste. _Someone_ is going to eat my scones."

Alarmed glances were now passed around. No one was going to just step up and volunteer. They all avoided England's cooking as much as they could.

America, though, noticing the anxiety in the eyes of his fellow nations, almost felt as if he should take responsibility for this. Didn't heroes make themselves responsible for things that they shouldn't? It seemed about right, but...just looking at those scones made him feel sick. _No, don't think like that, America! A hero would never allow fear to stop him!_ So, he tapped England's shoulder. When the smaller country spun to face him, America gave an odd smile (although it was more like a grimace). "I'll do it."

He could see everyone visibly relax as England's eyes widened in surprise. Without any more hesitation to talk him out of this death-wish, America turned and walked over to the scones. They were burnt and blackened, a disgusting smell emitting from the plate. With a gulp, America grabbed one and quickly stuffed it into his mouth.

Everyone gasped.

It took him about a minute to swallow, and he nearly gagged it back up when he did. _Oh, dear LORD, this is terrible! Ugh, why did I ever used to like his food so much? I'm going to kill myself, I really will._ Even as these thoughts went through his head, he took another one and ate it. Then another. And another. And another.

Finally, the plate was empty and America was looking quite green, ignoring the cheers that rose up from the others.

"_Magnifique travail, l'Amérique!_"

"_Maravilloso!_"

"Ve~ That was brave, America!"

"Oh, _mein Gott_, you saved us all!"

England spun around at these cries of happiness. "Shut up," he snapped, stomping over to his former charge. "Thanks, America. That...are you full? I know those scones were rather sweet, and-"

America promptly threw up all over him.

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><p><strong>SCONES AREN'T THAT BAD! And, this is coming from a true-blooded American. An American who hates McDonald's and ketchup and greasy fries with a passion. *shrugs* I do enjoy barbeque, though. Ever been to a REAL one? Like, you know, slaughter a pig and eat it? I have. I hid when the whole slaughtering-time came around. Poor pig. *sniffles sadly, still obviously not over devouring a pig*. I want a pig, too. I'd name him Quigley, and he'll be my best friend.<strong>

**Ooh, got a little off track there, didn't I? Anyway, this here be the third part of _takixe190_'s birthday gift! *throws confetti everywhere* ENJOY, MY LOVE!**


	4. The Deal With Cats

**SHORT CHAPTER IS SHORT. Geez. I'm no good at updating, am I? I have my excuses, though! Twenty-bazillion projects! Yeah. Anyway...chapter four. Here you go.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Greece's army of cats would be unstoppable. **

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><p>When Canada brought him outside, America was doing two things at the same time; nursing a black eye and trying not to hurl anymore. "There, there," Canada muttered. "Geez, for all their talk about not noticing, they sure were quick in making <em>me<em> the one who has to take care of you."

America simply groaned. "I hate my life."

"Rightly so." His northern brother frowned. "What on earth were you thinking, Al? We both know that England's scones are horrible abominations, yet you go off and eat them anyway?" He slung America's arm over his shoulder, trying to keep him from falling. "Are you drunk or something?"

With a wince, America whispered, "Or something. And, don't mention his scones to me. Ever. Again."

"Then answer my question."

"I don't have to-"

"Scones!" Canada called out. "Scones scones scones!"

His amusement was short-lived, though, for he had to deal with America emptying his stomach once more. Once the blond nation was able to straighten without hacking up the rest of England's failed cooking, he quickly mumbled, "I wanted to be heroic."

Canada sighed, moving away from the sick pile and hoping Spain wouldn't be _too_ angry about that. "Yeah, because the most heroic thing to do would be to eat England's scones. Right. Dammit, why can't I find my car?"

"Well, England was upset..." America took a deep breath before continuing. "And heroes don't let people get upset."

"Sure, let's not take into account that England is _always_ upset," Canada grumbled, tired that he was always stuck on the job of babysitting America. "Hey, do you know where my car is?"

America cracked a short grin. "Would you believe me if I said that Prussia took it on a joy ride?"

Canada's head whipped around to face his brother. "What?"

"Joking. I just wanted to see your expression."

"Hmph. For someone's who's sick, you sure do act like a complete dick." His tone was dangerous and even America didn't try messing with him after that point. "Ah, there it is." He finally found his rental car in the midst of the other shiny European ones. "I don't think these silly countries have anything better to spend their money on then cars, do you?"

America was able to climb into the passenger seat by himself. "Dude, don't ask me any questions right now. I feel like I'm gonna puke again."

"Yeah, well, do it out the window. I don't have any bags."

"You're a harsh man, Canada," America pouted.

Canada stuck his tongue out. "Yeah, whatever. Now, just-"

"Shush!" America suddenly perked up and quickly clamped a hand over Canada's mouth. "Hear that?"

Staring at him angrily, Canada let out a muffled, "Hear what?"

Slowly, so as to not lose the sound, America stepped right out of the car, making sure to keep his hand on the edge of the door for support. "It's a kitten. I hear it meowing."

His brother came around to stand beside him, expression curious as he, too, listened out for the cat. When he heard it, he sighed. "Wow. A cat. We don't see those every day. Now, come on, America. I have to get you home before you start barfing again."

America wasn't in the mood to go home anymore, though. "Canada, heroes always rescue cats, don't they?"

"What-"

"I'm gonna rescue that cat, Canada!" Without another word, the superpower ran off, leaving his brother to stumble after him, calling his name.

It took him a bit, but America was finally able to find the kitten, stuck in a tree in Spain's backyard. "Aw, look, he's scared!" America exclaimed, grinning. "Dude, this is perfect! I'll get that cat down from the tree and be a hero!" He winked over at Canada, who simply raised his eyebrows. "Watch this, bro! It'll be completely awesome."

Canada knew America could climb trees. When they were young colonies visiting each other, America would always demonstrate what 'the squirrels had taught him'. So, it wasn't really much of a surprise when America began shimmying up the tree with skill that one could only ever _dream_ of having.

While climbing, he heard America's soothing coos. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! I won't hurt you!" The northern country glared up into the tree as he saw America take hold of the small cat. "Ah, there ya go! The hero has you now!"

By this point, a few other countries were gathered around the large window that gave a clear view of Spain's backyard, and Canada felt himself blushing. "America, will you hurry?" he asked. "Everyone is staring."

America, climbing down the tree, stopped on a rather not-so-sturdy branch, looking rather enthusiastic. "Seriously?"

"America, watch out, please. That branch is going to-" Upon Canada's quick and unfinished warning, the branch started cracking.

"Shit," was all America was able to say before falling. He let go of the cat and Canada realized he had a quick decision to make- America or the cat?

He caught the cat, ignoring his brother's painful crash to the ground. At the window, the countries all began cheering. Both Canada and America, though, were far from the point of cheering. "Ow, ow, ow, this cat is clawing my arm!"

"I'd rather have that than a broken back. Ugh, I'm gonna be sick again!"

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><p><strong>*bows head in shame*<strong>

**Yes, _takixe190_ is celebrating her birthday in just a few days, and I'm not even Prussian enough to finish this for her. I'm sorry, lil' 'sis! Feel free to smite me down with all of your hate!**


	5. The Deal With Relationships

**I'm no good with updating. I think I've said this before, but...oh, geez. Anyway, _takixe190_ celebrated her birthday one week ago. I didn't even get halfway done. Also, she bought ME a lovely bag and some Wizard of Oz buttons and...yeah, I didn't get her anything, I couldn't even finish a story for her. Hell, I couldn't even write _decently_ for her. I'm the worst big sisterin the world *cries*. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Romano would have 10x more scenes.**

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><p>Visiting Italy meant you had to endure those two brothers, which, America had come to realize, wasn't nearly as awful as everyone made it out to be. Sure, Romano took some getting used to, what with his bitchy attitude, but the younger of the two was actually really sweet and friendly. Plus, they both made some delicious meals.<p>

Which was why America found himself at their house one afternoon, slurping up pasta like he was in heaven. Italy sat beside him on the couch while Romano sat in an armchair across from them. "Man, this is _delicious_, Italy! Thanks!"

Italy beamed proudly. "No problem, America! I'm glad you could come and visit us. Romano and I were just talking about you, weren't we Romano?" Said country sent him a death glare, which Italy promptly ignored. Or he didn't notice it. Either way, he just continued talking, a large smile etched upon his youthful face. "So, how are things going over at your place?"

America swallowed before answering. "Eh, it's all right. We're kinda having some slight economic troubles, but nothing I can't handle, ya know?"

"You've always been strong," Italy commented with a nod. Romano simply snorted. "What about England?"

"What about him?"

Giggling, the northern half of Italy expanded on his question. "How are things between the two of you? Are you still friends?"

"'Course we are!" America exclaimed, sitting up straighter. "I mean, yeah, he's still sore about the whole 'scone incident', but he'll get over it. Sometimes I just think he likes being a grumpy old man. Besides, I sorta had a right to barf all over him. Those scones are _nasty."_

This was when Romano finally contributed to the conversation. "That eyebrows-bastard has always made nasty scones. His cooking tastes like shit."

America was going to agree but didn't because, not only was his mouth full, but he felt slightly bad talking about England in that way. After all, didn't he always proclaim England to be his best friend? What kind of friend would he be if he went around gossiping and talking trash about his buddies? So, instead, he just changed the subject slightly. "Does Germany make good food?"

Glad to be on such a lovely topic, Italy nodded enthusiastically. "_Si, si_!" he replied. "He makes wurst for me a lot, and it's-"

"Don't talk about that potato-bastard," Romano growled, arms crossed against his chest. "Anyway, he can't cook to save his life, _fratello_."

Italy's face pulled down into a pout. "I think his cooking is very good. I mean, it isn't like Spain's cooking, but it's still good!"

Romano finished off his meal, still looking angry. "Spain's cooking is...it's okay sometimes," he admitted, a light blush spreading over his cheeks. "Better than Germany's, _si_, but not better than my own."

Noticing Romano's sudden bashfulness, America smirked. "How has Spain been since his birthday party?" he asked, the question now aimed fully for Romano. "Have the two of you hung out lately?"

He could see Romano open his mouth to say something, but his younger brother beat him to it. "They just went out to dinner a few nights ago! Spain brought him a rose and they dressed up and _fratello _looked so handsome!"

"That's a lie!" Romano growled, turning even more red. "Besides, even if it was true, it would be strictly business! Business only, get that straight! Plus, I would have thrown the rose away. I don't even like roses, dammit!" He was standing now, gripping his glass of wine firmly. America blinked, not quite expecting such a reaction.

However, America decided that this would make life a bit more entertaining. Sure, he could be beaten for it (he really hoped that South Italy didn't have a hard punch), but the instant satisfaction he'd gain from Romano's humiliation would be well worth it. Besides, he was going to be giving him some _advice_. Heroes gave advice constantly, correct? Okay, so maybe they didn't give advice just to make fun of someone else, but...still, he'd be heroic while embarrassing the shit out of his 'friend'. Yes, it was possible. Don't question America's ways. "So...what base are you guys at?"

Romano narrowed his eyes. "Base?"

"Yeah. First, second, third..." Noticing the confused gazes from both Italy brothers, America held back a snicker. "How far have you gotten with him, is what I meant."

"What do you-" Romano suddenly stopped speaking, the confusion being replaced by borderline rage. "You...you _bastardo_!" he yelled, unable to come up with any good insults at the moment, due to being utterly horrified. "How dare you just assume- I mean, _idiota_! I hate you! Instantly thinking...just because I hang out with him...we don't _do_ that!"

Seeing that Romano was now looking for something to throw, America quickly said, "Oh. My apologies. I just heard him talking the other day about how much he adored kissing you."

He figured out that Romano didn't exactly punch too hard, but he sure knew how to curse fluently in some other language (which America assumed was Italian because, yeah, look where he was). Once the angry nation left, America rubbed his red cheek and turned to Italy, who was looking quite frightened now that his friend's attention was all on him.

"So...how are things with Germany going?"

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><p><strong>Yeah. Feel free to send me some awful emails or PMs about how terrible this was. Ahem. I'm gonna go...and crawl into a corner...and try and write better...and longer. Yeah. On a random note, <em>why<em> are my stories always so short? It's like, I'm writing and writing and enjoying myself, but once I lose my train of thought (which is quite often, I don't have a good attention span whatsoever), I just end it on an abrupt note. As seen above. I need to slap myself a few times.**

**Anyway, feel free to review! Even if this is a gift, reviews make me insanely pleased and...well, I'll give you some Internet birthday cake if you review! Because the real birthday cake is all mine, just saying. Er, I mean, it's all my little sister's. Heh...**


	6. The Deal With Alcohol

**H-Hi, takixe190! Um...I know you celebrated your birthday, like, two months ago (maybe less, now that I think about it), but...I never finished this for you. I'm a horrible person, aren't I? I do hope you enjoy this chapter, though...heh?**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Iggy would probably be drunk more often.**

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><p>After the whole incident with the scones, America had to endure countless of countries making fun of him. Even if he had saved everyone and taken on the food poisoning himself, they were quick to forget, and instead poked fun at his illness that day (and how he fell out of the tree, but he mostly ignored that).<p>

He was vaguely reminded of Spiderman, how everyone soon came to hate him, and was able to hold his head a bit higher. If Spiderman could endure the pain of being a hero, then so could he! He was America, after all! Nothing would bring his spirits down, not when he knew how incredibly heroic he had been. They were just jealous that they weren't nearly as awesome as himself. Especially that idiotic Prussia.

Besides, one thing that most certainly cheered him up was seeing England teased even more than he was. He supposed he did feel a bit of pity for the island nation, but he deserved being made fun of, especially when he was the one who caused America to throw up everywhere.

Many times during the World Meetings, someone or other would place burnt cooking right in front of England's seat. America admired how his former caretaker would simply frown and move them aside, acting as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. Whenever a country brought up a smart remark about his skills in the kitchen, England would just turn away in response. America really found that maybe England wasn't as unheroic as he thought he was.

That entire week, America was forced to watch England belittled for that one day in which he proved, once again, he couldn't cook. He formed a plan all the while watching as his ally was teased- he would take Iggy out for some drinks the day before he had to leave.

Goodness knows England needed some time to drink. If this much bullying was going on with the other countries, anyone would need a drink.

He arrived early on that evening, figuring it was better to start now than than it was to begin later. "Iggy?" he asked, pounding on the door. "Open up, Iggy, it's me! C'mon, now, the hero is gracing you with his presence!"

There was no answer, so America just continued his insistent knocking, growing louder with each passing minute, until, finally, the shorter country opened up. "Would you just shut up, you git!" England hissed. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"Whoa, wait...Iggy, are you crying?" America blinked, noticing the tear stains running down England's cheeks and the red-rimmed eyes.

England sniffed, turning away. "No."

"Yes you are!" America stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "England, is this because of all the teasing?"

"It has nothing to do with any of that!" England snapped, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Now, what do you want?"

America stared at his back for a few more seconds before replying. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to go out for drinks. It's been a while since I've treated you, and I think you really need it, after what you've been going through this whole week."

The elder scoffed. "All of which is your fault."

"Nuh-uh!" America retorted. "I was just trying to help you out! You're the one who managed to poison them somehow!"

"I did not poison them, you sodding idiot."

"Did so. I was sick for a week!"

England mumbled something incoherent, crossing his arms over his chest. "You said you'll be paying?"

Sensing that he won, America grinned. "I'll be in the car."

Once they arrived at the bar, England ordered the most expensive thing, probably to piss America off, but the younger nation didn't let it get to him too much. After all, he did say it was his treat, and he felt sorta bad for England. Since he was the hero and all, since he was a Spiderman-like figure, he supposed he could deal with the tab, just this one time. "Not too much at once," he warned, watching with surprise as England downed half of the alcohol before he had even ordered one for himself. "You want this evening to last, dontcha?"

"Not really, considering my company," England grumbled.

America looked around. "I don't see any sort of weirdos here yet," he said. "Maybe they'll- oh, haha." He suddenly understood what England was saying and rolled his eyes. "Hilarious, England. 'Scuse me while I pee myself laughing."

England snorted. "Idiot. Took you a bit, didn't it?"

"Just shut up and get drunk already."

That probably wasn't the most intelligent of things to say to a depressed, irritated nation, especially one that was unable to hold his liquor. By the next hour, England was already giggling and slurring every other word together.

"An', an' den I say, 'Dun touch me dere, Fr-Frog', but he goes an' tou-touches me an'way." The smaller man hiccuped, red in the cheeks and trying to hold onto the table to sit up straight. "Y-You won' touch me, will ya, 'Merica?"

America sighed, gulping down his beer and trying desperately to also get drunk. Designated driver be damned, he could always call a taxi. He just couldn't be sober and handle England at the same time. Besides, heroes didn't deal with people this heavily intoxicated, did they?

Since he wasn't yet fully drunk, America had no choice but to reply. "No, Iggy, I won't."

England looked satisfied at this answer. "G-Good. See, I dun wan' you touchin' me, 'cause, 'cause den it'll be not...not nice." He leaned forward, smiling brightly. "Ah, dat's a f-fairy! 'Ello, fairy! 'Ello!" He suddenly gasped, nearly toppling over, until America put his arms out to catch him. "Y-You see it, too, 'ight, 'Merica?"

For the sake of it, America nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I see it. Geez, Iggy, I told you that you shouldn't drink so much. You don't listen to me, do you?"

Suddenly, England's eyes filled with tears. "Why do ya h-hate me?" he wailed, sobbing into his hands. America tried ignoring the odd glances the bartender kept giving the pair. "Y-You left me! In the 'loody 'ain! I-I jus' wanted ta be a good dadda, a g-good...a good..."

"Brother?" America supplied.

This sent England crying again. "A brother! You hated me! I loved ya"

"I didn't hate you."

"Ya did, ya did!"

America let his head hit the table after ordering another beer. This was going to be a long night.

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><p><strong>I've never written England drunk before. Hope I didn't screw up <em>too<em> horribly.**

**So...yeah. Since I'm on a crazy writing spree (don't know how long THIS will last, le sigh), I'll hopefully have the next chapter up within a few days. Thank you for being patient and still loving me, takixe190! **

**And, as always, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to leave a review.**


	7. The Deal With Flight

**Some more intoxicated nations, hooray! As always, I deeply apologize for being so late. Forgive me? Especially you, _takixe190_...**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, America would be wearing a cape.  
><strong>

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><p>If anyone were to ask, America would vehemently deny ever becoming intoxicated on that night. However, observations from certain bystanders proved him wrong.<p>

The truth was, America had become just as drunk as England, if not more so.

Unwilling to end the night, the two nations had stumbled outside, arms around each other, voices loud and incoherent. They received many strange glances but, being drunk, simply ignored them all. They were in a blissful state that only alcohol could bring to one, not a care in the whole world.

"W-We should do this more often," America hiccuped, tripping over his own feet. Luckily, England was quickly able to grab the back of his shirt, saving America from a nasty fall.

"I b-believe you might be right," England agreed, leaning against the taller nation. "We need t-t-to get drunk _every_ night."

America laughed loudly, throwing his hands out. "Drink all the beer!" he yelled to the sky.

England stumbled as America's hands hit him. "Ow, bloody hell, what was that for?" He rubbed at his cheek, suddenly looking as if he wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. "B-Being so _mean_ to me, being a right wanker, that's what you be...being."

However, America, being in such a state, didn't even notice that he hurt his ex-caretaker. Or care. Or both. "I c-can't drink beer in...in my state. In my country. At home." He burped, not even bothering to cover his mouth. Fortunately for him, England was too drunk to lecture him about it. "M-My I.D. s-says that...that I'm nineteen."

"You're so young," England gasped, shaking his head and causing the world to spin just that much more. "So, so, so young."

"Yes." America nodded sullenly, grabbing hold of England's hand. "I'm young." They stared at each other for a few seconds until America broke it with a giggle. "Your eyes look like seaweed."

Emotions were running very high in England at the current moment, so he instantly burst into tears. "Why do you keep being so mean?" he sobbed, burying his head in America's chest. Instead of stopping to comfort him, America simply kept walking- or, rather, hobbling, since England was clinging to him like a child would cling to his mother. "Y-You're such a b-bloody tosser, and I hate you, I do, I hate you!"

"I hate you, too!" America exclaimed, suddenly starting to cry as well. "E-Everything is your fault and-" He stopped, looking up at a building with his eyes full of tears. "E-England? There's a ladder on that building."

The island nation turned his head to look at the ladder America seemed to be impressed with, and his eyes widened. "I-Indeed it is," he replied, wiping his cheeks free of the tears. "Wh-what should we do?"

America's eyes suddenly got a determined glint to them, one that always spelled trouble. "I'm gonna _climb_ it," he whispered, pushing England away from him. "And I'm going to be Superman. You will call me...Super...Super _America_."

Had England been sober, he would have slapped America across the face, explain to him the dangers of climbing up a 24-foot ladder when drunk, and drag him home to give him coffee and clear his brain of the influence of alcohol.

However, he was _not_ sober, not even in the slightest.

"You'll be my hero!" he exclaimed, sitting down on the sidewalk and nodding proudly. "If you can fly like S-Super...Super America, you...you be a right hero, that you will."

All America heard was the word 'hero', and he knew what he had to do. "Wait here!" he cried out, running (see: stumbling) toward the ladder in what he hoped to be a very epic move. Of course, it just looked ridiculous to anyone other than England. "I'll be your hero! I'll fly and become Super America and save the day!"

That was his plan. But, as everyone knows, plans never go well when one is too drunk to even sing the alphabet.

America climbed the ladder, nearly falling off every couple of seconds. He went slowly, his legs shaking as he placed them on each and every step. His hands were too sweaty to get the proper grip that is vital to climbing a ladder, but he didn't even really notice it much. He kept his eyes up, the roof to the building becoming closer and closer with every move he made. "I'm almost there!" he called down to England, who cheered in response.

Once he arrived at the top, the wind blowing at his face and his whole drunken body shaking with the effort of the climb, he rolled over, laying down for a few short minutes. He wanted to take a break before he flew to beat up the bad guys.

"England!" he peered over the edge, squinting down into the dark. "Where are you?"

He vaguely saw a hand wave up at him. "Right where you left me, Super America!" came the very drunk and very British voice. America had a quick thought that England should try speaking French one day, just for no apparent reason other than the fact that it would sound hilarious.

"Right! Here goes, I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." What was he going to do? Beat up some bad guys, yes, but why in the world was he on this building in the first place? His mind drew a blank, and he sat back to think. Okay, he saw the ladder, he climbed the ladder, England told him he'd be a hero, they cried together, he rolled over on top of the building...

He was intelligent enough to realize his thoughts were most certainly not in chronological order. "England?"

"Yes, my hero?"

"What...what was I gonna do?"

England was silent for a few seconds. "I don't rightly remember!"

Huh. Strange. Usually England remembered everything. America scratched his nonexistent beard. "England?"

"What?"

"If I grew a beard, do you think i-it'd be a _magic_ beard?"

He heard England gasp. "M-Magic? Yes, of course! I could get my fairies to help you. They're all right here. Why, hello fairies!"

At least England was still being kind to him. Those silly fairies probably weren't around, though. If America couldn't see them flying near England, he knew better than to believe in them.

"England?"

"Yes?"

"I was going to fly, wasn't I?"

And, suddenly, England cheered once more. That clearly meant America's brain had started working again.

"Right! Here goes!" He jumped to the ledge of the building, swaying and holding his fist out in what he hoped was a very heroic pose. "To infinity and _beyond_!" he bellowed.

Then he jumped.

Needless to say, he found himself painfully laying on a pile of garbage, now sober enough to thank whoever was listening that a bunch of trash bags probably saved his life.

He was also sober enough to hear England's hysterical laughter, and he really just wanted to punch him.

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><p><strong>It was too much fun writing this. I was laughing all the while. I do think that's it for drunk nations, though. Hope you enjoyed!<strong>

**Please feel free to leave a review and whatnot.  
><strong>


	8. The Deal With Elders

**I really should be working on all my other fics, but I really couldn't resist writing this. It's been my most anticipated chapter since I first planned the entire story out back in February. :3 However, now that I look at it, I really don't believe the ending is up to par. Argh.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, spying would become a regular activity.  
><strong>

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><p>Once America arrived back at his place, he made certain never to go drinking with England again. No matter how tempted he might become to take advantage of the legal age in Europe, he wouldn't do it. Maybe there was a reason he wasn't allowed alcohol until he was twenty-one.<p>

"Oh, what am I saying?" he grumbled, rubbing at his aching back and trying desperately to find a bottle of painkillers in his medicine cabinet. "I'm well over twenty-one! I can drink whenever the hell I wanna drink!"

But he couldn't and, even if he could, he wouldn't. He wasn't in the mood to jump off another building.

He just thanked his lucky stars he hadn't chosen the Clock Tower. England would have had a grand old time explaining that one to his boss.

Finally deciding Tony was probably using his medicine for one of his strange experiments, America gave up and grabbed his favorite red Sharpie, facing his calender with determination. He was going to make sure he never drank with England. Not ever again.

"Meeting, 3:30pm, England," he read, his eyes narrowing as he wrote in large letters underneath it, _do not drink_. "Meeting, 11:00am, UK." He shuddered to think of going to the bar with the entire Eyebrows-family. Nuh-uh. _Do not drink- seriously._

This went on for the next few minutes, America marking every appointment he could with his awesome reminder. He wasn't in the mood to ever jump off another building again.

Once done, he stared over at his stack of video games, hoping he could find at least one of them to play. However, a quick scan told him he had already beaten/given up most of them. Really, he needed to find some much more difficult ones. "Guess it's off to the game store, then!" he exclaimed cheerfully, grabbing his wallet and heading out the door.

It was such a beautiful day and, since he had already eaten three double cheeseburgers that day, he decided that the walk would do him so good. Besides, it wasn't every day that the birds chirped this loudly, that people were this friendly, and that the weather was clearly on his side- sunny yet not overly hot. Perfect weather for a walk.

Others seemed to think so, too, for it was rather crowded out. America was pleased that so many of his citizens were able to enjoy the same things he did. Though he loved his gaming and television as much as the next man, he really did promote spending time outside, breathing some fresh air every now and again. Unless it was football season. Then television was absolutely necessary.

He made his way to the end of the sidewalk, waiting for the signal to tell him to walk. Usually he would dart across and see how fast he could run and how well he could weave in and out of the cars, but this really wasn't a time to be risking his neck again. Literally.

Just as he was about to cross, he noticed an older lady hobbling across, coming towards him, a boy scout at her side. He watched with interest, forgetting about the green signal, until they were right next to him.

"Thank you, sir," the lady said, her voice almost as wobbly as her legs. "You're so heroic."

The boy grinned and puffed his chest out. "All in a day's work, miss!"

Heroic. Ah-ha. If America couldn't be heroic by climbing a building and trying to fly (he still didn't know what his thought process was at that time), he could certainly be heroic by helping an elderly woman cross a busy street. It was cliched, yes, but he was growing desperate.

So he began slowing his walk, keeping his eyes alert for any sign of a lady in distress. Most of them were probably taking the bus, he dully noted, since old ladies didn't like walking anywhere.

Well, except for this one.

She was very tall, which was the first thing he noticed. In fact, she didn't look much like an old lady at all. However, she was wearing a flower-printed skirt and she stood near the street with a walker and her hair was silver, so she must have been an old lady, right?

America ran up, grinning widely as he approached her. "Hey, miss! Ya need any help crossing the street?"

She turned to him, but her face was covered with various fabrics. He didn't think it was _that_ cool out, but she was nodding, so he wouldn't complain. Even if she was taller than him. And bigger. Damn, he really needed to workout if even old ladies were now probably capable of body-slamming him. "Alright! Just hold my elbow and I'll get you across this street, 'kay?" Another nod and she did as he asked.

Like a true hero, and a true gentleman, America gently led her to the other side, ignoring the impatient feelings that were starting to well up. She was _slow_! Was it normal for the elderly to seriously walk this freaking slow? It should be illegal. They should now just stick fully to buses.

By the end of their little walk, America wished he had thought to make her pay first. Or at least call him a _hero_. However, she said nothing, merely stared at him. At least, he thought she was staring. Her eyes were slightly covered with the head-thingy she was wearing. Whatever it was. America had no idea. "Um..." America shifted on his feet. "I...I guess you're cool now, right?"

"_Da_."

At least she spoke. Even if it was in a different language. A language that sounded very familiar. And a voice that sounded very familiar. "W-Well...you gonna say anything?" Pushing the suspicions out of his mind, America decided he had a right to be blunt. If she was going to be rude and speak something other than the language of awesome, he deserved to say what he wanted to say.

"You're funny," the old lady responded, her voice unnaturally accented and deep and...and Russian.

America stared. Stared, blinked, stared some more, rubbed his eyes. "R-Russia?"

"_Da_?" Russia began unwrapping the layers covering his face and America saw that it was indeed his arch-nemesis, Mr. Ex-Commie himself.

"What are you doing in my country, you filthy vodka-lover?" He was going to show stupid Russia that you did _not_ pretend to be an old lady in the good ol' U S of A. Not on his watch.

Russia looked down at his clothing choices, then back up at America. "The skirt feels nice, in case you were wondering."

America snorted. "Doesn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

"I was trying to blend in," Russia responded brightly. "I wanted to live an American lifestyle. We're conducting experiments to see if Americans are happier than Russians."

"Damn right we are." America nodded triumphantly. "You don't even have to research to see that."

"Ah." Russia still smiled, slightly creeping America out. "Then I should probably put on something else and head back home."

Only when he was leaving did America realize he never wondered why Russia was wearing a skirt.

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><p><strong>Bad ending is bad, yes.<strong>

**Clock Tower: If anyone is curious, the Clock Tower is the tower where the Big Ben is located. The tower itself is NOT called the Big Ben. The CLOCK is Big Ben. Just thought I'd clear that up in case anyone was confused. :)  
><strong>

**Don't ask me why Russia's here. I don't have any sort of idea. Even when I planned it out, I had no clue. Woe is me. Or you. Or America.  
><strong>

**I hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to leave a review!  
><strong>


	9. The Deal With Cultures

**Blah blah blah, apologies for being late go here, blah blah blah, idiotic statement goes here, blah blah blah.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Canada would have an army of Mounties.  
><strong>

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><p>Inspiration came from some of the most strange things, America had long since figured out. Why, he could be playing a game one minute then suddenly cliff-diving the next minute, all because of something he saw or heard. England called it 'acting on impulse'. America called it 'being awesome.'<p>

His awesome inspiration today wasn't nearly as dangerous as cliff-diving or parachuting or any of the other life-threatening activities that America completed before. In fact, he was pretty sure that every other country would be proud of him, for his newest idea was heroic and amazing and he knew they couldn't help but be pleased as his sudden turn-around. Especially when he had just been watching a cooking show when it struck him.

"It's like I'm taking a complete 360 turn!" America exclaimed to Canada, rummaging through his closet.

Canada smirked. "360 degrees, Al? Like, you're going to be turning around 360 degrees with this idea?"

America grinned. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, pleased his brother understood. "Everyone else will be all, 'Goodness me, look how heroic America is! Why didn't we notice it before!'" The superpower paused, basking in his daydream. "I'll get all the hot girls and the others will be so freaking jealous of me! See, I bet you're jealous already, Mattie!"

"Oh, immensely so." Canada nodded, quickly plastering on a serious face. "My jealousy levels are off the charts."

Though America certainly wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, that amount of sarcasm was simple for even him to decipher. "That was rude and uncalled for," he pointed out. Of course, he wasn't down about it for too long. "Boy, am I ever glad I buy all the random clothes I see! You know, England once told me that this skirt would never be useful. Well, joke's on him!" America tugged the kilt from the hanger, tossing it on the bed.

"It's a kilt, America, not a skirt." The northern country picked it up from his spot on America's bed, blinking a bit in surprise. "Though I'm not even sure where you bought this thing."

"Let's compromise and I'll call it a British skirt, cool?"

"Scottish," Canada corrected yet again, with a small sigh. "Alright, you have your kilt. What else is it you needed?"

America thought about this, looking deep inside his large closet. "One of those Spanish hats with the...the things."

With a roll of his eyes, Canada replied, "Oh, that one. Yes, makes perfect sense."

"Shut up! You know, the...the uh...sombrero!" America grinned excitedly. "I have it somewhere in here, probably up at the very top.

"Your closet is far too big for one man."

America ignored this. "And I still have those weird sandals that I bought in Japan a few years ago."

"And why did you buy them?" Canada was clearly amused by this entire situation, though he made certain to hide it from America. If the younger country knew, he would probably just stop his entire plan.

"I was bored and I had the money. Hey, found the Spanish hat!"

Canada caught it once America threw it behind him, then began looking over the clothes. "You have a kilt, a sombrero, and geta."

"What's a geta?" America glanced over.

Canada held up the sandals with boredom. "Remember a shirt," he added.

Ignoring the fact that he was using the wrong term for his choice of footwear, America said, "Yeah, this is where I'm confused. I don't know any countries with neat shirts I could wear. Unless I do one of your Eskimos, but it's too hot outside for that. Plus, I don't even think Eskimos exist anymore."

"Eh?"

"Do they?"

"Well, I guess."

"Oh." America turned around and faced his older brother. "You have any ideas? Like, what's a popular shirt that everyone can guess the country which it came from?"

It took Canada all of three seconds to easily give America an answer. "Canadian Mountie outfits are actually pretty popular," he stated, gently laying all of America's clothing choices out in front of him. "I think you have one in there, too."

"I do?"

"Mm-hmm. You begged me for one after watching Dudley Do-Right."

"Oh, I do!" Recognition clicked in America's face as he went deeper inside his closet. "It's back here somewhere or other. I wore it once at some costume party. I forgot it was Canadian, though, so I told everyone I was a space alien! I don't think they believed me, though."

"What a surprise."

"I know, right?" America came back out, holding a slightly wrinkled Mountie shirt. "Ta-da! Good as new!" He tossed that alongside the other clothes. "Alright, so I got something from England-"

"Scotland."

"I meant that. Something from Spain-"

"Mexico."

America shot his brother the death glare. "Mattie. Shush." When Canada shrugged, America continued. "Something from Japan, and something from your place." His eyes danced with excitement. "See, now England can't call me an uncultured git anymore! What's a git even mean, anyway?" He didn't wait for an answer, which was just as well, for Canada didn't have a response to that. "See, I'm gonna be as cultured as one can get! England will look stupid in comparison to me!"

As America gathered up his clothes and all but skipped off to the bathroom, Canada wondered just who exactly would look stupid in this situation. Fortunately, America decided to get Canada's approval before running off to the world meeting.

Unfortunately, that meant Canada was able to see just _how_ stupid America looked dressed up in such an insane outfit. He did try hiding his laughter for America's sake (he hated destroying his brother's excitement), but first came a snort and then he fell back onto the bed with his laughter, unable to look America straight in the eye.

"So...I guess this means I look pretty bad, huh?" America sighed. "Well...I'll keep the Mountie jacket, at least. It's pretty comfortable." And back off to the bathroom he went.

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><p><strong>Guess who wasn't even supposed to appear in this chapter? Canada. Sneaky little devil, that one.<br>**

**Deeply sorry, takixe190, for being muchos late! Forgive me? You, too, readers! Don't cry, please hold your tears. I'm back.  
><strong>

**If you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a review! =D  
><strong>


	10. The Deal With Trios

**I'm terrible with deadlines.**

**If I owned Hetalia, the BTT would be unstoppable.  
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><p>Sometimes, America noticed, it wasn't just France who asked for a beating. Yeah, sure, they could do without his perverted comments and random gropings, but he only became a true terror when he decided to hang out with his other two friends. The Bad Touch Trio.<p>

Or, to America, 'The-Three-Idiots-Who-Think-They're-Better-Than-Me'.

Names weren't important, though. What was important was that they didn't know the meaning of personal space. They didn't know the meaning of 'leave the other countries alone, no one likes you guys anyway'. They only knew the meaning of annoyance.

America saw just how many nations were constantly irritated by this certain trio. Their first target would usually be Romano, and they would travel down the list of countries to harass, usually ending with England. And by ending, they totally went home with bruises all along their jaws.

They never really bothered America much.

He was content with that, though. Every so often, one of them would make a jab in his direction, but America would simply smile and mutter something about the second amendment, and that would be all the harassment he received.

Besides, there were times when the Bad Touch Trio were actually a really fun group. Even more so when it came to blackmailing the others. America found some good material during those moments, material that he never once forgot.

Unless they were blackmailing him, of course. However, America would cough out the words, "bearing arms," and those silly Europeans would shut their mouths and the incident would never be spoken of again.

Anyway, the point of the story would be that, despite their lack of interest (or lack of balls) in dealing with the American, they were still annoying to every other country in existence. And heroes were idolized when the source of annoyance was removed. Which obviously meant that the Bad Touch Trio must be removed from the World Meetings. And to do that, they ought to be removed from the maps.

But the only way to remove them from the maps would be to kill them. If there was one thing America wouldn't do to stop them, it would be to kill them. Or wound them. Or lock them up in a dungeon and never let them see the light of day again.

He couldn't do the last one on account that he didn't even have a dungeon. He needed to build one.

Besides the point, though. Totally irrelevant (_not really_, a little voice in his head told him. _Wouldn't it be fun to be a dungeon master or something?_).

His way of dealing with the problem was much more heroic than punishing. His way of dealing with the problem was absolutely flawless. All he had to do was approach them.

"Dudes, nice meeting ya in the hallway!" he said, clapping France's shoulder (hard enough to show off his strength but not nearly hard enough to make him collapse).

"Actually, America, we were about to-"

America didn't care what Spain wanted to say. He never really did. "We haven't talked in a while, have we? No. Well, let's talk! Ooh, I have the perfect conversation starter! Don't you just hate it when other nations get all up in your personal bubble?"

France removed America's hand from his shoulder, raising his perfectly-plucked eyebrows (_what a girl,_ America thought with a scoff). "_Oui._ We do."

With a chuckle, America shook his head. "I mean, there are just those nations you wanna _punch_ for being so obnoxious and arrogant, don't ya think? They take up your time and harass you."

Prussia shot France a confused grin, disbelief plastered across his face. "There are those nations we wish to punch, _ja_. Nations that stop us in the middle of hallways to lec-"

"I wish I could punch some nations, too. I mean, they're attention whores and only care for themselves and-"

Spain finally got a word in. "America, are you saying you want to punch yourself?"

With a blink, America stared blankly at Spain. "No," he answered. "Why the hell would I wanna do _that_?"

"You said you wanted to punch the annoying countries," Prussia supplied. "You're the most annoying country of them all."

America laughed. "What? Am not! The world _adores_ me, you silly guy. I make good points in the world meetings and I help everyone during the wars and I never lose! I fight for freedom and justice and...and...and more freedom! I'm America and _no one_ hates me."

"That's up for debate." Prussia centered himself in front of the taller nation, smirking at America's defiant look. "I can think of ten other nations who hate you."

"Liar."

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"Are-"

"Oh, just stop," France muttered, pushing Prussia aside. "_Amérique_, we don't exactly hate you. We just..." He looked around at his friends, trying to think of the perfect way to describe it. "We just get irritated by you every so often, that's all."

Well. Huh. This was most certainly not going as plan. America frowned, a bit upset that his ideas weren't working. "But...I just want to be known for being great and heroic and awesome-"

"Too late, I called awesome," Prussia snapped.

France sent a glare to his friend. "If you calmed down slightly, _Amérique_, perhaps more nations would be willing to listen to you." He patted America's shoulder, a smile on his face. "Now, we must be off. We have things to see and people to do. _Au revoir!_"

The trio left, snickering and glancing back at America, who stood in the now-empty hallway wondering what the _hell_ had just happened.

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><p><strong>Yes, the ending was very much rushed. I apologize for that.<br>**

**Shameless promoting here: I now have a tumblr! It is bob-ness-1 dot tumblr dot com. Once I get a few more followers, I'll be posting up some stories/drabbles/whatever else.  
><strong>

**If you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a review.  
><strong>


	11. The Deal With Video Games

**This meant to come out the day before yesterday. And I forgot. So I meant to put this out yesterday. And FF decided to be annoying. So, here we finally are...the 11th chapter. The 12th chapter shall be out a day or two after this. Promise.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, America's weapon of choice would be a lightsaber.  
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><p>America kept his promise not to talk to England for a whole week. But duty called, and duty was the most important thing.<p>

Besides, when duty involved video games, America made it his personal goal to see that duty through.

"So, you see, I'm now stuck in this predic...predic-thing-"

"Predicament," England corrected, sounding bored out of his mind.

"Yeah. That. And even though you were, like, the very last country on my list to call, I finally had to do it."

England made a small noise in the back of his throat. "And, tell me, why didn't any other country wish to spend time with you? They got bloody sick of you bothering them all the time, I suppose."

Frowning, America responded, "Dude, why are you being so nasty to me? I just wanna play some video games and you're all up in my face about crap." With a glare, he continued, "Besides, I was the only one nice enough to take care of you when you got drunk."

"No, if I recall correctly, you jumped off a building and I passed out shortly afterward. 'Take care of me' my arse." The island nation rolled his eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, I actually have work to do, Ameri-"

Before he could close the door, though, America stuck his foot out and blocked it. "No way did I fly all the way 'cross the Atlantic just to go home. Look, I even packed a bunch of movies for when we get tired of playing our games!" Noticing England's hesitation, America stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.

A mighty adorable pout.

Such was the power of his mighty adorable pout that even the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland couldn't refuse it. "Fine," he snapped, moving aside and allowing Alfred to come skipping into his house. "But, I swear, if you break anything of mine like you did last time, I'll make sure to destroy you."

"Whatever, old man." America instantly made his way to the television, where he began fiddling with the old Playstation 2 he had given England for Christmas. "Dude, when was the last time you touched this thing? It's got dust all over it."

England raised a very bushy eyebrow as he followed America into the room. "As I told you when I received the gift, I'm not a big fan of video games. I'd much rather read a book, as you very well know." The older nation scoffed. "Why, I simply assumed you bought this console for me as a way of mockery."

"Nah, I thought you might find_ some_ game that you enjoyed." Not really caring, America shrugged and stuck in a disc. "Pick up the controller. We're playing Battlefront."

"And what the bloody hell is Battlefront?" Despite being a bit uneasy with the choice in games, England did as America instructed, allowing the game to recognize another player.

America began setting everything up. "It's a Star Wars game. You'll see, it's fun."

His plan was simple- become Luke Skywalker. Luke was everyone's favorite hero. All he had to do was kill a certain number of men or grab a certain number of bases, and he would be Luke Skywalker, who was an excellent hero, and his status as the world's greatest hero would be well assured.

"Star Wars?" England groaned, rolling his eyes. "Such an overrated movie, really. I would have much preferred one of those James Bond games you brought with you some time ago."

"Nuh-uh. You were too excited when I started those up. It's no fun when you pause it every five seconds to tell me a fact about each and every movie out there." Letting the level load, America grinned. "Besides, this game is too easy for me to win. I'm a master when it comes to shooting stuff!"

However, after about ten minutes of battling viciously, America realized that England was far better than he had assumed. "Dude, have you been practicing or something?" he asked as he died for the third time by England's hands.

Giving America a smug look, the Englishman replied, "I just happen to be lucky most of the time. You're too busy trying to play the hero, which means you leave yourself open to far more attacks."

He was right about that. America frowned, shooting down one of the stormtroopers on England's side. "Yeah, well, just wait. I'm gonna get so awesome and you're gonna wish you could take those words back."

Luke Skywalker was usually so simple of a character for him to get! It only took ten minutes, even with Japan, and he would be slashing away at everything with a green lightsaber and a satisfied smirk. England, though, was proving to be quite the challenge.

"Just give up protecting your teammates already," England criticized, killing America for the fourth time. "They're computer characters, they obviously aren't going to repay you anytime soon."

"A hero doesn't do good deeds for karma," America said with a little _hmph_. "A hero does good deed because it's the right thing to do."

"Lad," England said, looking amused. "It's a video game. In the long run, it means nothing whatsoever."

How to tell him that it meant everything? So far, all of America's plans to become heroic had failed. This was the last thing he could do! Luke Skywalker was indeed (and he meant no pun here) his only hope. His _last _hope, to be precise. How would people ever take his heroism seriously if he couldn't show them that he was just as good as Luke?

Then England broke in his determined thoughts. "It's asking if I wish to play as Darth Vader."

"_What?_" America blinked and glanced over at England's side of the screen. Sure enough, it was. And, sure enough, England chose yes.

"My, this is very entertaining," England commented dryly as he slashed through the rebel soldiers left and right, accompanied with a few quotes from Vader himself. "You never told me I'd be able to play as a Sith."

With horror, America watched as England struck his own rebel soldier down. "Ha!" The Briton winked at his former colony. "Five."

America hunched over on the couch, forced to watch as his number of allies dwindled into the single digits, and forced to listen to England's cries of, "America, look how far I can throw my shining sword! This is such fun!"

Well, screw that.

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><p><strong>If you're a USUK fan, I have some promoting to do here- I'm currently writing a collab fic with the wonderful author <em>Tall on the Inside<em>. You can find her in my Favorite's box-thing. The fic is called _From the Time You Say Goodbye_, and it's amazing and beautiful and _I order you to go read it! Now!_  
><strong>

****Also, leave a review for this one if you will. Like, please. It's almost done, one review won't hurt.**  
><strong>


	12. The Deal With Heroes

**And here we have it. The final chapter of ADWTBAH (that's what we shall call this now- try saying it out loud, I dare you). You guys sad? Pleased? Angered? IN COMPLETE RAGE? It was actually supposed to be finished back in February, but, what can I say? Bob Ness is slow at updating. Amazingly slow. I'm surprised people still read this. Anyway, without further ado (I love that word), here is the final chapter. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, America would be idolized.  
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><p>Life hated him.<p>

Many people said that, but it was only true when America said it. Eleven attempts to prove how heroic he truly was, and nothing was working. _Nothing!_

Guns had failed. That only made the others view him as some crazy madman.

Trying to stop France's groping had failed. That only made France more apt to flirt with _him_ now.

Saving everyone from England's cooking had failed. That only made him ill for a while. Oh, plus it gave the others more things to tease him about.

Rescuing a cat had failed. That only gave him a painful injury and somehow strengthened Canada's 'heroism'.

Giving Romano relationship advice had failed. Okay, granted, that one _was_ simply so he could poke fun at one of the Italy brothers, but whatever. It still failed.

Trying to apologize to England had failed. That only caused both of them to get heavily drunk.

And, when drunk, even America's plan to fly had failed. That need no further explanation.

His goal to help an old lady cross the street had failed. That only made him a little bit nervous when around tall, old ladies now- anyone of them could be Russia, after all.

Proving how culturally diverse he was had failed. That plan didn't even make it out of his bedroom door. Thankfully.

Confronting the Bad Touch Trio had failed. He wasn't even sure what went wrong on that one.

And beating England in a simple video game had failed. That one failed _terribly_, actually. He never even wanted to think about that experience, for as long as he should live.

Sighing and walking down the street, he stuck his hands deep into his pocket. He was useless. He was worthless. He couldn't prove how heroic he was. Why did he go around calling himself the hero if he obviously wasn't? He didn't deserve..._any_ title like that. "Might as well call me 'Stupid'," he muttered.

Then he realized that he had already earned that name. And, sadly enough, it was the only one he lived up to.

He wanted to fall over and cry. He just wanted to sob his guts out until someone stepped on him. Except that would be humiliating and people stepping on his fingers might really hurt, so he decided not to cry. Crying was for children.

Speaking of which, there was a child crying just to the left of him.

He turned and glanced at her, noticing that she was trying to catch a stuffed teddy bear, which three older boys were throwing and kicking. "Leave Mr. Snuggles alone!" she sobbed.

The boys, however, simply laughed and continued abusing the poor teddy bear.

America quickly had enough of that. No child would get bullied on his watch. He stepped up, grabbing the bear from one of the boy's and glaring them down. "If you don't want me to find your parents, all of you had better run." The glint in his eyes was dangerous and his face was nothing to scoff at either.

America was well-known for being a very threatening country when the need to be one arose. Which he supposed was a pretty good title to have, actually.

The boys, as he expected, went running away, throwing glances back over their shoulder as they left. Thankful to be done with that, America turned to the young girl and smiled for her.

He was also pretty good at being kind. That was one of the best traits he had. Maybe that title was also a good one.

"Here you go," he said, handing her bear back after brushing some dirt off of it. "Good as new, Miss!"

She giggled, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Th-Thank you, Mister!" She held her bear up and made it move. "Mr. Snuggles says thank you, too!"

America grinned and gave Mr. Snuggles a pat. "Well, I'm mighty glad he's a-okay. How 'bout yourself?" He bent down next to her and mused her hair, just as he remembered England doing to him when he was a child and upset. "Did those boys hurt you in any way?"

She shook her head. "No. They just took my teddy and were being mean to him." She hugged the bear tightly to her and pouted.

"Well, I'm sure they won't bother you anymore," America stated, straightening back up. "Now you should probably find your mother. It isn't safe for young girls to be out by themselves."

"Alright!" She perked up and turned to leave, but quickly said, "You're my hero, Mister! Thank you a bunch!" And she was gone, running off to go find her guardian.

America blinked, staring after her.

She called him a hero.

He wasn't even _trying_ to be a hero right then. He was just doing what he knew to be right, and...and she called him a hero.

He allowed himself a smile, feeling so much better right then and there. Maybe his plans were ridiculous. Honestly, in the long run, would winning at a video game make him a hero? Would scarfing down dozens of poisonous scones make him a hero? Would arguing with other countries make him a hero?

Apparently not. All he had to do was what he knew to be right, and he was a hero.

Oh, sure, maybe others wouldn't call him a hero. Maybe they would continue sticking the nickname 'stupid' on him or, in their best moods, 'obliviously kind'. But America didn't care what they thought. One of his own citizens called him a hero, not for showing off or getting others drunk, but simply for rescuing her teddy bear.

He was a hero. He didn't care if no one else recognized it. So long as he knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing, he'd always be a hero.

Turning around, he began whistling, suddenly in the mood to chat with England some more. Maybe he could tell him 'thank you' for the scarf that the smaller country knitted a few weeks back. It wouldn't hurt, would it?

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><p><strong>Ahaha. I finished. Fist pump, man. Awesome fist pump.<br>**

**Like I said in the chapter before, you guys need to go check out that collab I'm doing! I'm not repeating myself again, though, so if you wanna know the title and where to find it, look in the previous chapter or simply check out my profile. Thanks.  
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**Also, leave a review! This story is now complete (finally) and I'd love to see if you guys liked the ending or not! Toodles!  
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